


Little Red Lies Case-file #6 PART 3

by Geelady



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geelady/pseuds/Geelady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trial and the tribulations...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little Red Lies Case-file #6 PART 3

LITTLE RED LIES Part 3  
Author: G. Waldo  
Rating: Case-fic’. Some angst. Violence. Hurt-comfort. Light humour, and of course Jane-pain. SMUT in this one!  
Characters: Jane/Lisbon friendship; Jane/Cho  
Summary: The trial and the tribulations...  
Disclaimer: Not mine though I wish he was.

 

CBI

Cho was waiting outside in his car when court got out and Jane, a free man in between court dates, walked out alone. Van Pelt and Rigsby had offered supportive waves to him as they all fought through the crowd of reporters and the curious, becoming separated in the crowd and, in the end, each being forced to go their own way.

Jane fell into the passenger seat as though a man with the air let out of him, sagging against the back support and doing up his seat belt with the deliberate motions of an automaton.

Cho tried to lighten the atmosphere. “Bad week?”

Jane granted him a tiny grin but there was no enjoyment in it. 

“Dinner?” Cho asked. Lisbon had kept him busy all day running down Jane’s activities for the last several weeks and setting aside any tidbit of information, no matter how small, that would prove that Jane did not know Joshua Neil, had never met with him and had certainly not shot him down in cold blood. The pile of possibilities was scanty. 

Until recently, when he had taken up a romantic connection with Cho, Jane had been such a private man when away from work that none of them ever knew where he went or who he saw until he came back on Monday. And only then did he occasionally reveal what he had done. Plus so many of those stories of his weekend adventures rang false that half the time they did not believe him. Who in their right mind would go alone to a cheese festival?

“Drinks.” Jane said.

Cho nodded, not sure it was a good idea to get sauced over the weekend but if it helped Jane cope, who was he to argue? He could probably use a double slam or two to ease the tension.

Cho parked in front a small, dark, little-known pub on the highway north out of Sacramento and walked into the place with Jane in tow. It was where he used to go to meet with a few of his old army buddies until they all moved away or life circumstances caused them to mostly drift apart. After two years the pub’s staff had turned over and now no one here knew him. Jane’s face told Cho that he had never been here either. If one of the staff or the half dozen patrons happened to recognise Jane’s face from the evening news, there was a good chance they would leave him alone. 

Cho chose a small booth in a corner far from the front doors and when the waitress came around, he ordered a pint draft. Jane chose a double scotch on the rocks which surprised Cho. Jane rarely drank and when he did it was almost always expensive wine. 

They sat and nursed their drinks for a while. Cho thought it best to just stay quiet and let Jane talk if he wanted to. He would not push him. Nothing ever good had come from trying to push Jane into doing something he didn’t want to do. Only Lisbon had that much influence over Jane and it was those rare times that, when Cho allowed himself to think about it, her power over Jane stuck in his craw. 

Despite their romantic connections and Cho having screwed Jane’s brains out on more than one occasion, it was Lisbon who wielded the most sway over the object of their mutual romantic interest. With misgivings Cho had seen how Lisbon sometimes looked at Jane; her soft blush of colour whenever Jane stood too close to her and her tendency to always overlook his deceits and other imperfections. Cho was certain that Jane was well aware of her feelings for him and used them to his own favour, at times even counting on Lisbon’s weakness for him in order to get away with one of his schemes with little or no repercussions. Lisbon protected him as she would a secret lover and Jane, still being the habitual manipulator that he was, used it to his advantage whenever he could.

But Lisbon and Jane were not lovers. Cho was convinced of that. Jane might be a hustler and a liar but when it came to the affairs of love he was bound and gagged by his own heart’s innate integrity, and however he tried to hide or deny it, it was a heart he wore on his sleeve. When Jane loved he loved totally, blindly; almost unhealthily. After nine years the man was still mourning his dead wife. He still wore the ring around his finger, a ring he had not taken off even for Cho nor, as far as he knew, for anyone - not for a minute. It was why Cho was convinced that, although he knew he was in love with Jane, Jane was not in love with him. Jane liked him, probably even had feelings for him but it had not developed beyond that, and so the ring stayed where it was. 

And then there was the Lisbon issue and her unusual attachment to Jane. They had all to one degree or another grown to care about Jane almost right from the outset and that was one puzzle the answer to which Cho had not figured out. During their first cases with Jane on the team, he had not made a clean - nor certainly – an honest first impression, but it quickly became evident that there was something about him; some indefinable aura of specialness that seemed to leave behind an invisible string that some people latched onto and then never let go. 

Maybe it was the needful look on his face; the ever present sadness in his eyes, or just his terrible aloneness in the world that invited instant forgiveness. Jane was a loner who took great pains to convince people that he wasn’t or that he didn’t really mind being alone all the time, all the while wearing the gold band of his ten years dead wife on his wedding finger. 

Right from the start they had all started caring about him – inexplicably it seemed. But the part that most surprised Cho when he had figured all this out was that Lisbon thought no one knew how she felt, how tangled up in Jane she had become. But her team were an astute bunch of people and early on they all knew she had developed feelings for Jane almost right away, and the kind that went well beyond the professional. The difference between Cho and her was that she was simply not yet ready or willing to admit to them. 

Cho could only hope it would stay that way. He hoped it each day that went by in fact because he knew Jane had some unspoken feelings for her secreted away somewhere, ones he never mentioned until they shone through on his face whenever he and Lisbon spent time together on a case; when things were going well. And Jane’s face lit up when Lisbon was around and no matter how hard the blonde tried to hide it, Cho could see it there as plain as the sunshine. He himself loved the man but he doubted he could compete with Lisbon’s womanly wiles if the day came where she decided to put her mind and heart into winning Jane to her bed.

None of that mattered at the moment as Jane stared down into his fourth drink. Cho wanted to get some food into him, too, and maybe a few Tylenol to combat the headache that was sure to result from an empty belly suddenly filled with hard liquor. “You tired?”

Jane looked up at his partner, feeling bad for having thus far pretty much blocked him out for the evening. He nodded. “Sorry.”

Cho dropped his credit card on the table and the waitress spotted him, coming over with her little machine to tidy up the bill. Jane had not offered to even leave the tip and Cho wondered if the two million in bail money had cleaned him out. Cho stood. “Come on, let’s go home.”

In the car, Cho reassured him “You know all you have to do is ask if you need anything – right?” Cho felt a little dirty, as though he were trying to bribe Jane into staying with him, Jane maybe falling in love with him, maybe even devoting himself to him forever. Subconsciously, maybe it was a bribe.

Cho’s offer had the unintended effect of Jane reaching for his wallet and digging out a fifty, dropping it on the seat between them.

“Jane, I didn’t mean...”

“I know.” He said quickly. “Cho, I’m fine. I’ve got money hidden that no one knows about it. I’ll be fine.”

“I don’t want the fifty.”

Jane watched the night-time city speed by his window. Row after row of house lights passed in a blur, filled with mostly contented families all settling in for an evening of American Idol. “I know, but I don’t want to be in debt to anybody for anything anymore.”

The bald somewhat out-of-context statement rather frightened Cho. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Maybe not.” 

When Jane offered no further explanation, Cho fell silent, unsure what to do with this dark side of Jane that he knew existed but which he had only encountered once or twice. Dark, quiet Jane was a writhing mass of uncertainty and dread for anyone nearby. 

Cho drove home without saying another word.

If he had been fearful of Jane losing interest in their physical get-togethers, Cho was soon assuaged by Jane’s hungry kisses the moment they reached the bedroom in Cho’s modest apartment. Jane almost never took the lead in their shared affections but tonight he initiated the love-making by urgently and rapidly undoing the buttons on Cho’s dress shirt, his fumbling fingers and insistent lips encouraging Cho’s help.

Cho obliged and as soon as he was divested of his suit it wasn’t long before Jane was divested of every stitch of clothing as well and they were in bed with the covers on pressing their bodies together is ardent passion. Jane took the lead and Cho was shocked and delighted to feel Jane’s hands demanding full control over everything they did, grabbing Cho’s hand so hard it hurt and placing it over his hardening cock so Cho could fist him.

When Cho began stroking him, Jane growled and did a surprisingly graceful one-eighty flip on the bed and with all the perfect execution and speed of a gymnast, took Cho’s cock into his mouth sucking on him like he was starving. Cho did the same at his end and gratefully swallowed Jane’s erection as deeply as he could without choking, sucking and licking his length until with satisfaction he felt Jane’s thighs shaking with the need to come. 

This was it – the deep, deep sea, the unexplored ocean of Jane’s flesh, every smell, every delicious moan form his mouth. Jane’s hidden desires, freshly born or buried in the black depths, were waiting there just beyond his reach and he would reach them in time. Cho would sink into Jane over and over until he had tasted every breath from his lips and fucked every part of his hidden soul. 

This feeling now and forever is what he wanted - to bring Jane everything the man needed, all that he had been missing, to offer him the lustful human affections that had to have been missing for so many years; the sad lack of contact with another human that all people must have in order to feel well in heart, mind and soul but of which Jane for so long had not tasted - to feel loved yet not be ashamed for needing that love. Jane believed - wrongly – that he had caused his wife and child to die, and therefore he deserved nothing. But Jane’s atonement for that miscalculation had to end. Cho wanted to be that ending and the one to show his lover his unspoken intent by any all physical and emotional means at his disposal. 

For now, though, it was the physical and Cho took in Jane’s length like it was the best nourishment, the perfect silky sustenance for all needs and desires, no matter how insignificant. Their shared sex, the unbelievable high of making love to Jane, kissing and fucking him, was salvation in body and spirit. Here in this bed and beneath these sheets Cho was a god and Jane - a wayward son finally come home.

When they had both come down from the orgasm and the after-glow of satiation settled in, Cho lay half between wakefulness and sleep.

For a moment Jane watched as his lover drifted away and then turned on his side, raising his upper body on one elbow. Jane began to speak softly, very softly and very gently. Tapping Cho twice on the shoulder with his free hand, he said in a voice full of serenity, drifting into Cho’s thoughts like a boat being pushed across a lake by a summer breeze. “You will rest very well tonight, Cho. In fact it will be the best sleep of your life and when you awake it will feel like the best morning of your life. You’ll awake and feel alive and rested and happy, and everything will be fine. It will all be very, very fine and good. You’ll remember Jane your colleague and you’ll remember that you are friends and colleagues. No other memory of him will emerge to disturb you. Your mind will be a clean slate and things will be as they used to be before you fell in love with Jane. And it will all be good and fine and right. Do you understand?”

Cho mumbled in his hypnotic state. “Mm..d’wanna’ f’get you, Jane.” 

“I know, but tomorrow when you wake up, you will forget Jane. You’ll forget that you ever loved him, and you’ll forget about that ring you planned on buying him when you stopped into Chang’s jewellery store on your lunch break last week. But that will be okay – you will feel okay about that because you’ll remember that Jane isn’t a good risk. Jane causes hurt and...” Jane swallowed. This was a hard lie to tell. “He doesn’t love you back.”

Jane paused in his soft oration as his emotions flooded up and threatened to upend the whole attempt. “Jane doesn’t remember how to love someone and you understand that, don’t you, Cho?”

Cho, his face twisted in confusion, said “It...be...yeah...o-okay...I guess so...”

“Yes, you understand, don’t you Cho? Its okay - you probably just forgot. I want you to go to sleep now and sleep well. In the morning you’re going to feel wonderful and everything will be fine. Will you do that now? Will you go to sleep and rest well?”

“Sure...’nything for you...”

Jane frowned, not sure the hypnosis was going to take. Cho’s feelings for him ran deeper than even he anticipated but this had to be for Cho’s own protection. Sometime during the court case, the prosecution was for certain going to rip into Cho and his relationship with the accused and possibly ruin the man’s career and reputation for good. Jane could not in all good conscience allow that.

And even more worrisome, sooner or later Red John was going to make Jane pay dearly for caring about Cho - or anyone – other than Red John himself. The hypnotic suggestions had better take or there would be a reckoning in blood. Maybe Cho’s, maybe his, maybe everyone he ever cared about. That was Red John’s style. It would be foolish to suppose that the killer had changed his mind on such matters. Real psychopathic insanity hung around. There was no temporary about it.

“Rest, Cho.” Jane said and his lover was asleep.

Jane got out of the bed being careful not to jostle it too much, getting dressed in the green glow of the bedside alarm clock. He slipped into his boxers, shirt and suit pants, and then stopped for a moment to fish around in Cho’s work pants pocket. Finding Cho’s small ring of keys, Jane located the key to his apartment and slipped it off the key ring. Pocketing it, he stuffed the ring back into Cho’s pants, then finished getting dressed. 

As Jane buttoned up his vest and slipped his arms into the sleeves of his suit jacket it suddenly hit him what he was about to walk out on and it was a virtual physical blow to his midsection. He actually had to stop and breathe in and out for a moment to calm his hammering heart and the sudden cold fear of what he was about to lose, probably forever. Jane stood there silently, leaning against the wall breathing hard, his eyes pouring water. 

Even if he put aside what Red John had done to his family, for no other reason the killer was still going to die by his hands for this. Even for this alone - for stealing away the few brief moments of happiness he had experienced in nearly ten years. The last few months had been happier than he had remembered in a long time, and Red John was forcing him to abandon it – the one good joyous thing in his life. 

Jane stood by the bedroom door watching Cho sleep for minutes more as he struggled to get his emotions under control and while he was able to keep from choking up, changing his mind and climbing back into the bed, he could not prevent the tears that ran ever stronger from his eyes. They fell in silence, a thousand water droplets that paralleled the soft ticking from the clock on the wall and the relentless marks in time’s passing to his eventual third run-in with Red John, and the bloody aftermath that was sure to mark that collision.

Jane finally chose a mental exercise to help get his breathing under control. It would not do to pass out. Pushing away from the wall on shaky legs, he wiped at his eyes with a thumb and finger and left the apartment, locking the door behind him and slipping the key into his pocket. 

Calling a cab from the street corner, Jane rode home to his Sacramento apartment, tossing Cho’s spare apartment key out the window on the way. Cho would probably not even remember getting it cut for him.  
CBI

"The Prosecution calls Doctor Ladal Jalak to the stand.”

Lisbon recognised the name of the Medical Examiner in the Joshua Neil case. Cho had volunteered to preside over the team today and since things were quiet in the field of murder for the time being, she had agreed, though surprised that he had not requested to be in court himself to support Jane. She had at first refused his generous offer but then Cho had explained himself. “He doesn’t need me there. He’s strong. He’ll be fine.”

As soon as she saw Jane enter the court room and sit by his attorney’s side, Lisbon put it out of her mind.

The doctor was called to the stand and Williams welcomed him with a generous smile plus a request for his name and occupation to be read into the record.

“My name is Doctor Ladal Jalak and I have been the Medical Examiner for the Sacramento County Coroner’s Office for the last four and a half years.”

“You are aware, Doctor, of the proceedings in this court room on Friday last?”

“Yes. I know that there was some question as to the bullets having no fingerprints on them and,” He said his voice tightening up a little from the implied insult to his profession, “that there was some question as to the forensic work done on the case in conjunction with what evidence was or was not found on those bullets from the hand gun – the Glock. Let me assure you now there was no improperly performed work in this mater. None of the bullets had fingerprints on them, not even the smudges from human skin that are sometimes found – that means no oils were present that would have originated on the fingers of a person.”

“And what did this suggest to you, Doctor, about the bullets?” 

“This indicated to me that the individual who loaded the weapon had to have worn gloves of some sort – we were unable to determine what kind...”

“How many cases such as this have you worked on during your tenure at Sacramento Doctor?”

“I have done the forensic investigation into eleven murder cases in the last four and half years.”

“Only eleven?”

“We often have to farm, if you will, work out to other counties if we are short staffed or if there are other more pressing cases.”

“Still, it seems a small number of cases.” William said, inviting further explanation.

“People do not realise the sheer volume of work involved in a case such as this. We sometimes log in literally thousands of bits of evidence; hairs and fibres by the hundreds, each of which must be examined individually. Then there are the scrapings from beneath nail beds and the various substances and other matter found on shoes, clothes, inside cars or in this case, a garbage bin filled with all matter of evidence, most of which we must first sort out and then tag. There is also the contents of a victim’s home that has to be bagged and logged in, each piece then needing to be carefully examined. It can takes weeks or months to process even a single case of a single individual murder victim. All of these kinds of evidence must be examined and a determination made as to whether it is relevant or not. The amount of work is often staggering.”

“I understand, Doctor. So from your experience with the eleven cases you have taken to their conclusions, how many were gunshot victims?”

“Five.”

“And how many where-in a weapon was recovered at some point?”

“Four.”

“And of those four, in how many cases were you able to directly examine the bullets, either the bullets in the bodies or those remaining in the weapon itself?” 

“Three and before you ask, in only one of those cases was I able to recover a partial print. One partial print only, a fragment, one too incomplete - less than was necessary to tie the weapon to the alleged murderer.”

“I see. So it seems that while finding prints on the weapon, on the handle or the barrel or both, it is not unusual to find no prints on the bullets themselves.”

“No in my experience it is not.”

“In your experience and giving us your professional opinion only, why do you think this would be, Doctor Jalak? Why does it seem so difficult to locate human finger prints on the bullets?” 

“There are many factors. The size of the bullets, whether the person who loaded the gun wore gloves, even the ambient temperature of the room can play a factor.”

“The temperature?”

“Yes. If one is loading a weapon in extreme cold, the oils on the skin tend to solidify and that makes transference to any surface problematic - less likely to occur.”

“Interesting. Thank you Doctor Jalak.” William’s said and looked over at Selby. “Counsellor Selby, your witness.”

Selby stood and asked the doctor “As a resident of Sacramento County, what would you say is the average yearly temperature around here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“The temperature. We’re living in south central California, Doctor Jalak, how often does it freeze-over in Sacramento? Do your palm trees die during the dark, cold winters?”

Jalak frowned. “Of course not, I was merely making a point.”

Selby raised her eyebrows. “So am I. I am certain if Mister Jane was the one who loaded that gun he did not step into a beef freezer to do it, or put on gloves to load the gun and then take them off to shoot the victim. Does any of that make sense to you, Doctor? Does it sound like the actions of a methodical ingenious killer?”

“Objection!” Williams stood and appealed to the judge. “Does the Defence think our distinguished doctor’s practise is in psychiatry instead of medical autopsy?”

“Sustained. Please keep your questions, Counsellor, within the purview of your witness.” Judge Gilpin advised.

“Certainly, your Honour.” Selby answered. “Let me ask you this Doctor Jalak - out of the vast, vast number of murder cases involving guns that you have handled – what was it – eleven in total? How many turned out to be perpetrated with a gun owned by only one person?”

“I-I’m not certain. I think four or five if memory serves.”

“Four or five? Leaving six or seven where the weapon had multiple owners or at least multiple users?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“It is so. It is so. Have you ever examined a case, even testifying in court, where a weapon was loaded, even handled extensively by one individual and fired by another?”

“Ye-e-s, I’m not sure which one but yes I think there was a case...”

“Let me refresh your memory.” Selby took up a sheet of typed paper and walked toward the witness box. “In the case of Sacramento County against one Stephen Nicholls, a weapon, in this case a small revolver, that Stephen had used just the day before at a target practise was used the next day to shoot his wife to death. Stephen, a new husband for the second time and deeply in debt, had an insurance policy on his wife to the tune of three hundred thousand dollars - a nice chunk of cash if you can get it. But Stephen, seemingly broken up about his wife’s death, was charged with her murder.”

Selby clutched the paper in her hand and waved it in the doctor’s direction. “Seemed straight forward enough to me. They had the gun with his fingerprints on it, and they had a suspect in the husband who had no alibi and three hundred thousand dollars worth of motive.” 

Selby carried the typed sheet to the Defence table and plopped it down in front of Jane with a slam of her hand, making him jump. She abandoned it there as though the sheet had just become refuse, and this time walked over to speak directly to the members of the jury. “Turns out though, out of jealousy Stephen’s best friend had taken the gun and used it to shoot the victim. Why jealousy and how do we know this? You see, the best friend was in love with Stephen and resented him marrying for the second time. Kill the wife as punishment for spurning his advances, leaving the grieving husband to rot in jail for her murder. Neatly done one would think.” 

Selby turned to the jury to explain the rest. “And how was this case solved you may wonder? Well, through some clever subterfuge the investigators in the case were able to get a confession out of the distraught shooter. The husband’s fingerprints - Stephen’s fingerprints were all over the gun, oh yes, absolutely, but it was another man who used it to shoot the wife, killing her.” 

Selby spread her hands and appealed to their intelligence. “Laughably simple when you think about it, isn’t it? But without that confession, it at first appeared like a water-tight case against the husband.” Selby shook her head at the near injustice done to the faceless Stephen Nicholls. “The fingerprints of one man on the gun, but the murder perpetrated by another man altogether. All I can say is thank god for the diligent investigator who managed to expose the lies and get a signed confession from the real killer.” Selby walked back to her table where Jane sat quietly, looking at his hands and then over at her.

Selby turned back once more to the jury before reseating herself. “Oh, by the way, the investigator who solved that case?” She pointed to her client. “Mister Patrick Jane. Thank-you Doctor. No further questions.” 

CBI

“The Defence calls Agent Teresa Lisbon to the stand.” Selby announced.

Teresa Lisbon, dressed today in pressed slacks and suit jacket over plain white tee-shirt instead of her work jeans, took the stand, trying to relax. It was not the first time she’d been in a court room and not even the first time she’d been called to testify on behalf of a colleague accused of murder but it was the first time it was Patrick Jane for whom she was testifying. The evening before Selby had once more gone over some of the crucial questions she would be putting to her and how to answer. Lisbon was cooperative but not happy about being forced to expose the personal side of Jane, a friend, to strangers. 

Selby did not waste time. “Agent Lisbon, please state your name and occupation for the record.”

“My name is Teresa Lisbon and I’m an agent with the California Bureau of Investigation in charge of the homicide division.” 

“Thank-you. How many agents make up the homicide division?”

“Four, including me and one consultant.”

“Mister Patrick Jane being that consultant?”

“Yes.”

“I’m curious – why was Mister Jane not made an agent? I suppose a better question would be what is involved in becoming an agent with the CBI?”

“Several years experience with one police agency or another – preferably in homicide, an outstanding service and performance record during those years, and then often several applications before you are accepted, and most who apply I’d like to add are not ever accepted – or you might get the position by direct recruitment but that’s rare.”

“I see. So Mister Jane met none of these requirements?”

“Mister Jane is not a cop, although his performance is evaluated on a yearly basis like everyone’s. But he is the only employee who works for us via a yearly contract.”

“So he was, in a manner of speaking, recruited?”

“Yes. Jane came to us on a six month trial basis at half pay. It was an experiment the Bureau dabbled in a few years ago – to bring in a civilian with special skills as an aid or advisor. Having a civilian’s face out there was going to be used as an encouragement to the public, so they could better relate to us. It was a PR thing.”

“But he is not trained in police work?”

“No.”

“What is involved in being an agent in CBI homicide, and I refer to the skills required to do the job?”

“University degree in Criminology, weapons, physical defence, law enforcement protocols, State and Federal Law, and usually one or two other law enforcement specialties such as tactical weapons training or interrogation techniques.”

“So Mister Jane has no weapons training?”

“No.”

“He has never used a gun?”

“Only once that I know of, a shot-gun. He...killed someone.”

“Oh?? And who did Mister Jane shoot?”

“A man named Hardy, who was about to kill me.”

“So what you’re saying to us is that Patrick Jane saved your life?”

“Yes he did. He saved all our lives actually that night.”

“Who was this Hardy?”

“Sherriff Hardy, he was a man who was working for Red John the serial killer. It was a case Jane and I worked on together a few years back, during Jane’s first year with the CBI.”

“And Jane shot this man? A man who might have led the team to capturing and bringing to justice a serial killer, to capturing Red John, the infamous multiple murderer?”

“Yes, but Jane had no choice. He had to do it, he had to shoot.”

“How would you describe Jane’s handling of the weapon, in this case the shot gun?”

“Amateur. Sloppy. Jane hates guns, and blood and violence. If it were his choice I’m sure he would have warring countries settled their differences over a good game of poker.”

“And yet he works in homicide?”

“Jane is a private person, so he may tell you otherwise but I think he does it to help people. So people will not have to go through what he went through, but no, he’ll never be a cop. Don’t get me wrong, Jane’s a smart man but when it came to handling the weapon, he did not know what he was doing.” 

Lisbon couldn’t help it. She chuckled just a little. “Sorry.” She cleared her throat. “It’s not funny, it’s just...he just pointed from the hip and pulled the trigger. It’s sort of a miracle he even hit Hardy. But he saved my life, and for that I will always be grateful.” Lisbon looked over at Jane who met her eyes briefly, then looked away, down at his folded hands. He spent most of his time looking nowhere but at them. 

Lisbon hoped her testimony was helping. By saving her life Jane had lost the opportunity to track Red John through Hardy. Jane didn’t know it but she regretted losing than opportunity more than he did. Lisbon knew she would never forget the look on Jane’s face when Hardy revealed nothing, and then died while laughing at him. 

“These last four years Jane has proved himself.” Lisbon offered impulsively. “His skills are unique, which is why he’s still with us. He may not be a cop but he’s a valuable asset to my team. We don’t want to lose him.”

CBI

Part 4 soon. 


End file.
